I create a storm

I created a storm,

Storm enough for shipwreck,

And the wreck of me escaped to a place where I would find hummingbirds among the jacaranda trees and in the warm night rest.

I created a storm,

And I, wreck, swam through the high sea and sank soft into the sand of that place where hummingbirds flashed and jacaranda flowers lived for a day, then, bruised and crushed, fell on the ground before me where I lay.

The storm of my escape, my conceit,
Led me back here, to the garden.

There is no paradise and birds do not hum around the great grey oak.
Because you are not here there is no warm night.
Rest.

Then I create a storm,
and wreck, and search,
and all I find is a stack of feathered pebbles,
a miniature cairn,
a pile of lifeless bodies on the ground where I lay,
bruised and crushed.